more class poetry

there are birds
fat, fat robins
and tiny brown ones
picking at the ground
with a purpose
that I cannot see
unaffected by the cold
they seem to do
this all day.
grass
street

brown sticks extended to the sky
bright blue but cold
sound of diesel trucks against chirping birds
numbs my mind, chilled wind
freezing fingers
litter-less greenery, surprising
sun warms yellow buds
brown, blue, green, yellow
chirping, motoring, trickling, babbling
twisted limbs creak
so cold
too soon